To Drink Jorrvaskr Dry
by girlfromgraz
Summary: The evening after the battle over Whiterun, the entire city meets in the Bannered Mare to forget the events of the day. Among them are Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, and Falka of the Companions, and many kegs of beer. Complete with toasts to dead heroes, singing, dancing, flirting, fighting, and lots and lots of beer.


That evening, after Jarl Balgruuf had yielded to Ulfric, the Bannered Mare was packed with people. Everyone in Whiterun not injured too badly was present, and ale and mead flowed freely.

It wasn't a victory feast. There was nothing victorious about the way Ulfric's army had overrun the proud city. Balgruuf had been taken away in chains an hour before dusk, much to the displeasure of Whiterun's citizens. The fight had destroyed some of the buildings within the city as well as the lovely pergola around the city's landmark, proud Gildergreen. On the farms below the citywalls, the young sprouts had been burnt. The conflict had been settled, sure, but the price had been high. That night, people drank to forget.

Belethor had come, and with him most of the other traders of Whiterun. He and Sabjorn were loudly discussing the recent developments in corn prices when Arcadia showed up for a pint or two, her clothes still bloodied from the injured she had tended to earlier. With her came the city's master healer, Danica, soiled from the day and exhausted. She joined Balgruuf's former court mage, Farengar, for a beer at the fire. The Mare's resident bard, Mikael, sang of the glories of heroes long gone to Sovngarde.

Vilkas picked up four tankards of fresh ale at the bar, then wormed his way back through the thickly packed room. He rejoined his brother, Aela, and Falka and handed out the beer.

"To the Fallen!" Farkas raised his mug in a toast.

"To Whiterun," Vilkas agreed. Over the rim of his tankard, he watched as Falka whitened with rage. The young woman had pounded into Jorrvaskr earlier the day, worn and injured from the battle but enraged and mad at everything and everybody – especially Ulfric – and raging like the meanest of berserkers. Now, she clenched her own tankard so tightly her knuckles showed under her dark skin. Before his eyes, the Redguard woman drained her beer in one long, huge swallow, then gave an angry shout and hurled the empty tankard against the wall. It crashed into the woodwork over the heads of Athis, Ria and Elrindir, and they rose to meet the challenge. Vilkas raised his hand in an apologetic gesture, calming the three. Some of the other patrons raised their heads their way, too, but quickly lost interest when they realized they were facing the Companions of Jorrvaskr. Falka, though, still mad at the day's developments, kicked the leg of their small table, sending the tankards on it sliding.

Aela caught hers just before it toppled over the edge. "Wow, calm it, Falka, will you?" she chided, but it was more out of reflex than disapproval.

With her own beer gone, Falka reached for Vilkas' next. He was faster, though, and snatched the tankard out of her reach. "Hold it there, whelp."

She narrowed her eyes at him. A faint grin ghosted over Vilkas' face. He couldn't help himself, but teasing Falka by calling her whelp had recently become one of his favourite past-times – no matter the situation they were in. The way she bristled every time rang to him like the call of some forbidden fruit, and even though he was well aware it wasn't wise to tease Falka that way, he kept on doing so.

"I want to forget today. Whichever way. I just want to forget."

Farkas grunted understandingly. "Here, take mine," he offered, shoving his mug her way. "I'll get some more. It's gotten warm anyhow." He padded Falka's head, laughing at the angry glare he received, and set off to find a barmaid.

At Vilkas' side, the young woman drained the last of Farkas' beer in one go, and set the mug down with a heavy crash. She drew a deep breath, and with a loud crack smashed her fist on the table, making a few of the people around her jump.

Vilkas raised his eyebrows, putting down his beer. "What exactly has happened to put you in such a mood?"

"Ulfric!" Brown eyes bore into his as Falka moved closer. "The bastard! He used me! Fucked me like a dirty whore."

"Ugh!" On the other side of their small table, Aela made a face, waving her hand in front of her eyes. "Pictures in my head, Falka."

"Not like that!" It was Falka's turn to wince. "Gah! Only thinking of such a thing makes my skin crawl." She shuddered at the thought, her anger for the moment forgotten.

"He's not your type, then?" Vilkas interrupted, his usual impassive façade broken by the slightest smirk. "Tall, blond – I thought…"

Falka snorted. "That bastard? By the gods, no! Hate to puff your ego, but…" She paused, and a meaningful look spread over her features. "Might be I prefer broody, dark—"

"He has a lovely voice, though," Aela mused, not really heeding her two shield-siblings. Nobody spoke about it, but it was common knowledge that Falka and Vilkas couldn't carry on an ordinary conversation for more than a few sentences. "Say what you like about his character, but his voice is amazing."

Despite the distraction, Falka nodded at Aela's interjection. "Aye, that he has. You ever heard him speak, Vilkas?"

Vilkas shrugged. "I might have, once or twice."

"Oh, you'd remember if you had," Aela laughed from behind her tankard. "It's all rich and deep and grand and… present, like he's standing right next to you, when in fact he's at the other end of the city." Not entirely free of self-mockery, she sighed deeply. "Makes me tingly in all the right places."

"Aye," Falka agreed. "I hear you. That man could launch an army with his voice alone." For a moment, her tone was heavy with irony, making her outlandish accent stand out all the more. "I loathe the man, and yet I could listen to him and Galmar with their rich accents for hours. In fact…" Falka interrupted herself as another thought crossed her mind. A challenging grin curled her lips, and she turned to face the man next to her. "Not much unlike yours, Vilkas."

Vilkas raised an eyebrow. "Mine?" He bent closer to Falka, leaning on the table to support his weight. "Are you implying I could launch an army, whelp?" he asked, deliberately playing with the tone of his voice.

A slight smile curled her lips as she met him over the table. Mischief glinted in her eyes. "Armies? Who's talking about armies here? My thoughts were more along…" She paused and allowed a husky tone to seep into her voice, "…different lines. A deep voice and such a rich nord accent…" Instead of finishing her thought, she took a showy sip from her beer, allowing Vilkas' imagination to kick in, before proceeding to alleviate her own statement. "Of course, Ulfric doesn't call me whelp or pup all the time. I think he at least knows me for a grown woman."

"Truly?" Vilkas took the time to over-enunciate the word. "Too bad, then…"

Falka shot him another look, half glare and half defiance.

And then, all of a sudden, their staring match was interrupted as a small keg smashed down on the table between them.

"I found some beer," Farkas declared.

"Finally," Aela mock-sighed.

After Vilkas had overcome his initial shock, he nodded appreciatively. "You outdid yourself, brother." He let his twin fill their mugs with fresh ale, handing one to Falka. "Try not to break it, whelp," he rumbled, his face so close Falka could feel his breath on her skin, then raised his mug to his lips. The woman glared at him, but refrained from re-decorating the inn.

After a toast to Jorrvaskr's long-dead heroes, talk again returned to today's battle. "Ulfric used me as his errand boy, the arse," Falka spat after draining her beer.

Next to her, Vilkas shook his head. "Did you really believe this could have been solved peacefully?"

Again, Falka's features darkened with anger. "Yes, I did. I hoped. Sue me."

The feisty woman was itching for a fight, that much Vilkas could tell. And yet, he wasn't inclined to let the argument go, despite the exasperated looks his brother and Aela shot him. "Hope's for fools."

The tone of his voice made Falka stare at him. The hard lines of his face stood out even more prominent than usual, as if to match his words. All the feelings from before again welled up inside her – the anger, the bitterness, the passion, everything. "So I am a fool, then. At least I tried to do—"

"Guys," Aela's irritated exclamation interrupted them. "Please, stop it."

Vilkas raised his hands in an apologetic gesture.

Sighing, Falka surrendered as well. "I'm sorry, Vilkas." She pinched the ridge of her nose. "But I really did see a glimmer of hope for both of them. Ulfric and Balgruuf. I just wish I could have done something."

"I know, whelp. So do I." Vilkas threw his arm around her shoulders. She staggered under the unexpected action, bumping into his side. For a moment, Falka remained huddled against his side, drawing support from Vilkas' gesture. Sighing deeply, she then patted Vilkas' chest once, inclining her head in a silent thanks for the support and stepped out of his embrace.

"Do you have any idea what Ulfric and Balgruuf could have achieved together?" she asked. Vilkas tilted his head in denial, prompting her to continue. "I saw it. I saw the potential there. Imagine!" A fire lit in her eyes as she looked at her shield-siblings. "A strong alliance between a prosperous Whiterun and a flourishing Windhelm! All of Skyrim would have fallen in line behind these two, united." Falka shook her head, wiping away an angry tear with her thumb. "I need a beer."

"Whelp."

Falka froze in her movements.

"If it makes you feel any better – I am sorry for the way this turned out."

"I wanted to meditate between the two fools!"

"Now listen to me!" The sudden change in his tone made it clear Vilkas' patience was wearing thin, and for once Falka reigned in her temperament. "I can understand you, I really can. But listen!" He placed his hands on her shoulders and lowered his voice. "You are a warrior. A Shield Maiden of Jorrvaskr. So stop your whining and stand by your decisions. Be glad there was only so much damage done, and live with it."

Falka narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't retaliate. Instead, she gave him one faint nod, then brushed his hands off. She had made out Adrianne and Ulfberth in the crowd and, armed with her tankard full of beer, Falka fled in their direction.

"That one has quite a spirit," Athis, who had followed the keg of beer Farkas had procured, remarked, his eyes following Falka's receding form.

Next to him, Farkas chuckled. "Aye, she does."

"And Vilkas always brings out the best in her," Aela added, grinning at him.

Vilkas shook his head. "Why does Kodlak insist I am the hotblooded one?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be at each other's throats again in no time." Aela patted her shield-brother's shoulder, her grin even wider than before.

Athis snorted. "Or something."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful."

"You? Careful?"

Vilkas simply shook his head and finished his ale.

It had been a long day for the people of Whiterun, Mikael included. He valiantly entertained the crowd, but eventually, his fingers started to ache, and his voice was on the verge of breaking. Another bard who'd ridden into the city in the Stormcloak army's wake took over from Mikael, striking a happy melody on her flute. The tune was met with great enthusiasm, and Ysolda allowed Avulstein to drag her into a dance. They whirled around, jumping and leaping in perfect harmony with the music, and were soon joined by Adrianne and Ulfberth.

Falka wormed her way through the throng of by-standers, trying to make it back towards Farkas and Vilkas and their little barrel of beer. The song ended, earning the bard as well as the dancers a round of applause as well as calls for more. Falka had almost made her way over to the corner the Companions had occupied, when Belethor appeared before her. The bard struck another jolly tune, and the blonde Nord dragged Falka off to join the dancing.

"They must be the worst couple in Skyrim! Ever," Njada wheezed shortly after. She and Aela were laughing themselves to tears over Belethor's and Falka's poor performance.

Aela heartily agreed. "I almost feel sorry for Ysolda. Look, he does it again!" And just like Aela had predicted, Belethor again propelled Falka into Ysolda and Avulstein, staggering them.

Njada winced in sympathy as the couple clang to each another in support. "Ouch. How can he be such a clod?"

"Some people just are," Aela shrugged, her eyes following the dancing couples.

Farkas put his empty tankard down, casting a disapproving look their way. "I'm sure you're no better," he rebuked his shield-sisters.

Njada laughed, playfully patting his arm. "You might be, but I surely don't fail that terribly." She pointed at Falka and Belethor.

"Well," Farkas laughed. "Willing to give it a try?"

Njada seized him up for a moment, considering the offer. "Yep, why not?" she shrugged and accepted Farkas' offered arm.

They left Aela and Vilkas alone at the table with the rapidly emptying casket of ale. Vilkas drained his tankard, then refilled both Aela's and his own.

"To another year," Aela toasted him.

He nodded, and took a deep gulp of beer. "I wonder what the summer will bring."

It was Aela's time to agree with her shield-brother. "Hopefully some new recruits. With the war rolling over the land and dragons returning, we'll need more hands." Her eyes followed the dancing couples as she spoke. There was Ria with Elrindir, swaying to the tune next to Farkas and Njada. They didn't fare half as bad as Aela'd expected them to, and it made her smile to see the elation on her shield-siblings' faces.

"Aye, some new recruits would be welcome," Vilkas agreed, his eyes glued on the dancers as well. "Falka's doing fine enough on her own by now—"

"Heh," Aela turned to face him, a teasing look on her face. "That all you care to say on her behalf, master-at-arms?"

"She's made it into the Circle in less than a year?" Vilkas offered, playing dumb.

"Whatever." Aela only waved her hand at him, and again turned to face the dancers. "Oh, look, Belethor has released her."

"—but I can't guess at what the old man's plans are going to be for the year," Vilkas finished his original thought, watching as Falka smiled at Athis, taking his offered arm.

Aela shook her head. "He's fading away, Vilkas. Soon, he'll be gone, just like—" She sighed, biting off her comment.

Vilkas tore his eyes from Falka and Athis.

"Anyhow, we should be celebrating tonight, not mourning." Aela captured her shield-brother's gaze.

"Aye, we should," he nodded. He hesitated, then held out his hand to her. "I'm not Skjor, but if you feel like it…"

She smiled sadly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Vilkas. But… I'd rather have another beer. With you. If you don't mind."

Farkas and Njada returned some time later, flushed from the exertion and in high spirits. From afar, the huge man hollered for a tankard of fresh beer. Vilkas lifted the casket with one hand and shook it.

"Empty?" Farkas bellowed in surprise. "I'll get another one."

Mikael re-joined the other bard, and to the great joy of the audience, they stroke up the first notes of 'Ragnar the Red'. Many voices fell in with those of the two bards, and by the second line of the song the entire inn was reverberating.

Falka slipped back to their table. Flushed from the dancing, she appeared next to Vilkas to steal his tankard of ale.

"Oi!" he complained, this time reacting too late.

She lifted the mug to her lips and drank long and deep, while her eyes never left his face. "This is for letting me rot with Belethor," she declared once she put the tankard down.

"Rot?" Vilkas had to raise his voice to be heard over the singing. "I thought you enjoyed yourself quite fine."

Falka raised an eyebrow. "Enjoyed?" she echoed.

"Of course, you could have picked a better partner…" Vilkas let his sentence trail off as he stared into the crowd, feigning indifference.

Falka's eyes sparkled with mischief as she stepped into his personal space. "Well, obviously, only Athis cared enough to notice," she stated, her breath playing with the strands of his hair.

Around them, the crowd burst into the last line of the song, making any meaningful conversation impossible. And then, Farkas' voice echoed inside his head as he shouted into Vilkas' ear at the top of his lungs, "They're out of ale!"

Vilkas jumped, his ear ringing from the shout.

"They're out of ale!" Farkas again shouted over the jeer of the crowd, two mugs in his hands. "These are the last two!" He handed one to his brother and they drank in silence as over the jeering of the crowd, Mikael struck another tune.

Moments later, Vilkas found himself showered in warm ale, swearing, and his ears ringing from Falka's scream. Mikael had made the mistake of playing the current favourite, 'The Dragonborn Comes', which – as it turned out – was inadvisable as long as said Dragonborn was in her current mood. By the time Vilkas had shouldered his way through the crowd, Falka was trying to pry the lute from Mikael's hands while the bard himself clutched it tightly to his chest.

"How often do I have to tell you?" she screamed. "I hate that song! You're not to play it!" The day had been long, and Falka's patience had worn thin by recent events. Over the exhaustion and lifted spirits, Falka forgot herself. Her only goal tonight was to get utterly drunk and forget the day – and not to be harassed by drunken patrons. Too often had she found herself at the wrong end of the ambiguous saying. Nor did Falka want to be reminded of any Dragonborn business at all, thank you very much. For the moment, Falka was content with shouting at the bard, but she could give no guarantee it would stay that way. The nasty smile that had spread over Mikael's face made her fists itch.

"Oh, but it's such a lovely tune," the bard had the guts to tease the hot-blooded woman. "And I always wanted to know – how do you scream in the arms of—"

Falka's fist connected with Mikael's jar, hard. Shifting her weight on one foot, she aimed for a vulnerable part of Mikael's with the other. But before her knee could find its target, strong arms grabbed her around her waist and Vilkas pulled her away from the unfortunate man. "Whelp! Stop this!" he shouted into her ear. "You're insane!"

Behind them, Sinmir was shouting at Farkas. By the sounds of it, Vilkas gathered they should better get out of the Mare before something happened. So far, they were lucky enough none of the other patrons had risen to Mikael's defence, but Vilkas knew somebody would soon step in.

Falka struggled, half-heartedly, trying to land a final attack on Mikael.

"They're out of beer anyhow!" Vilkas shouted into her ear. "Let's leave for Jorrvaskr!"

That made the woman in his arms stop her struggling. Falka nodded, signalling her surrender, and Vilkas seized the chance to drag her out of the Mare without releasing his grip on her. He dared not rule out the possibility of Falka having a sudden change of heart. But they made it through the crowd without any incidents and were met at the door by Aela and Farkas.

"They're out of beer," Aela shrugged, "there's no use in staying."

The woman linked arms with Falka and Farkas, and together, the four warriors made their way over the empty market place. The climb up the stairs to the Gildergreen took slightly longer than it usual did, with Aela and Falka complaining loudly about the twins' inability to take the steps one at a time. Farkas started humming some tune, and not even the staggering of his three Companions could interrupt him. With some difficulties, they made it through the – much narrower than usual – gate.

"It's a shame they broke the pergola," Falka sighed at the sight of the blossoming tree, stopping in mid-step.

A splash interrupted the silence of the night. Falka's arm was jerked out of its socket as Vilkas stumbled into the shallow creek next to the paved way. He swore loudly, blaming Falka and Farkas for his misstep. By the time he was again standing on dry ground, his trousers were dripping wet. They stumbled on, all save Vilkas laughing hard. Wheezing from laughter, Farkas pulled to a stop at the bench beside the tree, pulling Aela and with her Falka and his brother along. All four of them ended up squeezed onto the small bank, laughing, wheezing, and bickering. Eventually, the laughter died down, followed by Vilkas' complaining. The night sky was clear and alight with hundreds of stars.

"It's beautiful here," Falka sighed, her tongue loosened by the alcohol. "I'm glad to be back." She stared at the sky for a moment, then added silently, almost as if to herself, "Back home."

Vilkas put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tightly. "Do admit it, you missed us."

Falka laughed once before growing serious again. Without pulling out of Vilkas hug, she nodded. "Aye. I did miss you guys."

His brother interrupted his humming for a moment. "We thought you dead," he simply stated.

"I'm sorry. I was at the College." Vilkas could feel Falka shifting uncomfortably.

"Bah, mages," Farkas shuddered, making Aela and Vilkas laugh.

Falka pouted. "This mage could take you on in no time." She paused, then started to rise, "In fact, why don't we—"

But Vilkas pulled her down on the small space between him and Aela again. "Oh no, forget it, whelp. No duels tonight."

"Fine," Falka huffed. "Not tonight." Shifting to fully face Vilkas, she threatened, "But if you call me whelp one more time, I will drag you out in the yard," she stabbed a finger into his chest, her face only a hand's breadth from Vilkas' own, "wolf."

"You'll do that. I'm already shaking with terror, whelp."

On Falka's other side, Aela only sighed exasperated.

"I need a beer," Farkas suddenly interrupted his humming. He jumped up, pulling Aela and the two others with him. "Let's find something to drink." And he dragged them up to Jorrvaskr, humming the melody that haunted his mind.

The four Companions ended up seated on the floor between the huge entry doors and the enormous fire pit in the middle of their huge mead hall. Not because there weren't enough chairs in the huge hall – far from it – but because that way, they were closest to the two barrels of beer that always sat just below the stairs. As was to be expected, Falka – with her southern heritage and not accustomed to the permanent cold of Skyrim – huddled closest to the heat of the fire, while her three Nord Companions slouched farther away.

"To another successful battle," Farkas bellowed, raising his tankard filled with fresh cold ale high in the air.

Aela, Falka and Vilkas answered his toast, draining their tankards. Farkas, unable to get the tune out of his ear, started singing the first few notes of a song. His twin gave him a smack over the head. "Stop that." But Farkas only laughed at him and continued his singing. Grinning at Vilkas, Aela joined in with his twin.

"I'm too sober for you," Vilkas sighed and got up to pour another round.

While Vilkas tapped the beer, Aela and Farkas went through the little rhyme twice. It wasn't more than a short rhyme to a jolly tune, but the two warriors seemed to enjoy it. After a third round they split up to continue their little song in canon. Falka stared at them, not believing her ears.

"Whelp. Here." Vilkas handed her the full tankard.

Falka snapped around, glaring at Vilkas. Instead of taking the offered drink, she got to her feet. Quickly crossing the little space between them, she planted herself in front of Vilkas. Being only slightly smaller than her opponent, she was able to stare him straight in the eye. "Is this a joke to you?" Falka demanded, her voice dangerously low. "How often do I have to prove myself before you will stop calling me whelp?" She seethed with rage. "Your own brother spoke for me, calling me fit to be a Companion. Aela and Skjor offered me the Blood, deeming me worthy of the Circle. But you?" Falka moved even closer. Only a hand's breadth separated their faces as her eyes bore into Vilkas'. "You think I don't deserve this position? This trust? Fine!" Tiny flames danced along Falka's hands and arms. "But then finally grow the balls to say so, out loud and into my face." During her speech, her voice had become louder and louder and both Farkas and Aela had been able to hear what she had to say. Not that it had mattered much, Falka's body language would have told them the same story anyhow.

"Don't anger the mage!" Farkas shouted at his brother, the little canon forgotten for the moment.

Vilkas' hand shot up, silencing his twin. The look on his face was grave. "You think I don't want you here?" he challenged the woman in front of him.

"I know you don't," she spat.

"You're wrong," Vilkas admitted. "I know you belong here, with us."

Falka took a step back, a sceptical look spreading over her face. That tone was new to her.

It was Vilkas' turn to follow her retreat, and a faint smile spread over his face. "You don't get it, do you?"

Falka slanted her head, casting a quizzical look his way. The small flames on her arms died down. On Vilkas face, hard lines cracked and became a mischievous smirk as he closed the distance between them. "How else should I call you, then?" he asked, keeping his tone deliberately low. "Shield-sister?"

Not certain of the game he was playing, Falka remained silent.

"I don't think so, either," Vilkas continued, interpreting her muteness as dissent. And, returning to his usual volume, he added for everyone present to hear, "I'm honoured to have you fighting beside me."

This time, Falka accepted the tankard of beer he offered her. Never taking his eyes off her face, Vilkas drew a deep breath, raised his mug high, and hollered, "To Red! Shield-maiden of Jorrvaskr!"

Behind him, Farkas and Aela raised their own mugs and shouted their approval. Bedazzled, Falka hid her face in her beer. Vilkas returned to his seat on the stairs between Farkas and Aela, and the two singers took up their canon again. Falka cast a brief glance in Vilkas' direction, still baffled and speechless from the unexpected appraisal. He noticed the movement and shot her an honest smile. With a brief nod, he again raised his tankard in her direction. A smile spread on Falka's face, and she returned the silent toast.

To Vilkas' left and right, Farkas and Aela worked themselves into a crescendo. As if on command, they both leaned forward to sing into Vilkas' ears, each of them grinning from ear to ear. Vilkas cringed and covered his ears. His singing interrupted by laughter, Farkas took pity on his brother. Carried away by the jolly tune, Aela hopped up. She dragged Vilkas to his feet as well, pulling him into a little dance around the table. Farkas, laughing, sang all the louder and started clapping the rhythm with his hands. Falka joined him. The jolly tune was simple enough – some children's rhyme from their childhood days, obviously – and she took over Aela's part while the proud huntress and the master-at-arms of Jorrvaskr whirled around to their singing.

A loud bang from the huge wooden door made Farkas and Falka jump. It burst open, spilling cold air into the hall. With it came Torvar, Njada and Athis, who was sitting on Njada's shoulders. The three newcomers greeted the others, bawling, with mugs raised high. Ria, it seemed, had stayed at the Mare.

"Avant!" Athis shouted, challenging his shield-siblings for a duel with him and Njada.

The two challengers were met by Vilkas and Aela, still clinging to each another in support against the dizziness of their wild dance, but hollering loudly. By the time Njada had navigated the space from the door down into the hall proper, Aela was sitting on Vilkas shoulders, ready to meet their opponents. With a shout, Athis threw his empty tankard against the far wall, and Njada charged.

Torvar snatched up a fiddle from somewhere and took up Farkas' silly song again. He instantly was joined by Farkas and Falka, though both frequently paused to cheer for the two sparring pairs.

Farkas eventually got up to supersede as the porter of the duo, in turn taking Njada on his shoulders. Together, they stood up against Vilkas and Aela. At first it looked as though Farkas had difficulties of supporting his partner while Aela wrestled against her. And then, much to the jeering of the other three, Farkas finally found his equilibrium. He started pushing back against the pressure from his brother, and Njada used the newly found stability to counter Aela's attacks. Torvar and Athis loudly encouraged Njada's attacks, and the woman on Farkas' shoulders moved on to best her opponent. At Aela's surrender she jeered loudly, throwing her hands up in victory. Aela clapped her on the shoulder, then slid down from Vilkas who seized his chance for a break. He sank down next to Falka with a fresh beer in hand, while Torvar and Athis took up the challenge against Farkas and Njada.

The childish amazement in Falka's eyes at the weird spectacle in front of them made Vilkas laugh. "You never seen that before, Red?"

She shook her head. "We… only did that as children. In water."

Vilkas drained his beer. "Feel like you're up to it? Farkas needs a good beating."

Falka grinned at him. "Any time."

When Torvar and Athis left to find more beer, Vilkas rose to challenge Farkas with Njada. Within moments, Falka was seated on his shoulders and Vilkas marched over to meet his brother and Njada. With a quick movement, the woman engaged Falka, forcing her down. Vilkas staggered, swaying to balance the weight on his shoulders. Falka grunted, but evaded Njada's attack.

"Get her down," Vilkas shouted at his partner, launching himself at Farkas.

"I'm trying to! It's not as easy."

It took Falka some time to get the hang of it. Balancing on Vilkas' shoulders, she eventually managed to land her own first blow, much to the enjoyment of Torvar, Athis and Aela.

The match ended with a tie, and the two teams pulled apart. Aela took pity on the panting brothers and brought them tankards of fresh ale. Njada, from her high perch on Farkas' shoulders, complained loudly and Farkas had to let her down to get her own beer.

"You give up?" Vilkas grinned at his brother.

"Course not!" Farkas retorted. "'s no lose when Njada leaves for a beer."

"You're one head short, Farkas," his twin laughed. "Means you lost the round. And we," he reached up to pat Falka on her thigh, "won."

"Ha!" Farkas wasn't in the mood to grant his brother the victory. "Not if I can help it! Torvar! Get your ass down here!" He barely gave Vilkas the time to finish his beer before he with Torvar on his shoulders attacked.

"You should've stayed with Njada," Vilkas grunted. Above their heads, Falka and Torvar struggled, panting. Falka landed a punch on Torvar, making the man shout out in pain.

"I'll go and ask Aela next," Farkas threatened.

Above, Torvar gave another shout as he lost his equilibrium at Falka's latest attack. Farkas stumbled under the weight, and Torvar tumbled onto the floor.

"We won!" Falka yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "Whoopee! Whoopee!" She patted Vilkas cheek, laughing. "That calls for a victory-beer, don't you think?"

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. He raised his voice in a shout to his shield-siblings. "A beer for my shield-maiden and myself!"

Two mugs of beer were pushed into his hands. Vilkas handed one of the tankards up to Falka.

"Brace yourselves for a revenge, you two," Farkas grumbled. "Aela! I need your help!"

The huntress laughed, complying with Farkas' request with two mugs of ale for herself and Farkas. "May the better team win," she raised her mug towards their challengers, her sharp eyes not failing to notice Falka's hand still resting on her shield-brother's cheek.

"Aye," Vilkas and Falka shouted, confident of success.

Falka drained her tankard in one deep, long gulp, then threw it against the far wall. Aela climbed onto Farkas' shoulders, and together they rose to meet Farkas' twin and his shield-maiden.

Though Falka struggled valiantly against Aela and Vilkas tried his best not to loose his footing against the towering duo that made his brother and the huntress, the round did not go well for them. Farkas pushed his brother backwards across the hall and against one of the pillars that supported the roof while Aela gained the upper hand in her wrangling with Falka. Vilkas grunted and tried to push his twin back, shifting his weight forward. But at the same time, Aela had Falka dodging one of her blows, forcing her to swerve backwards. Vilkas stumbled and went to his knees. Falka, not anticipating her partner's fall, landed on the floor. Farkas bellowed loudly, going into a small dance of victory with Aela on his shoulders. Falka, her limbs still entangled with Vilkas', groaned. Eventually, Aela climbed down from Farkas shoulders, laughing, and gave Falka a hand up.

"You win," Falka admitted. "I give up."

"You can't give up now," Aela shook her head, laughing. "What about challenging the brothers?" She grinned mischievously, and there was no way Falka could evade the challenge.

Under loud cheering, Aela, seated upon Falka's shoulders, met Farkas and Vilkas. The encounter wasn't exactly balanced, but Falka and Aela tried their best to stand against the two men. Njada cheered loudly at every hit Aela managed to land on Vilkas, but Jorrvaskr's master-at-arms worked her too hard, forcing Aela to doge numerous cunning attacks. Falka panted hard, struggling under Aela's weight and Farkas' shoving. Njada tried her best to encourage the duo, but before long the two women had to capitulate. Their surrender was greeted with loud cheering from the three spectators, acknowledging their courage to take on the brothers.

"A few more years, and we'll be able to beat you, guys," Njada shouted at them, handing Falka and Aela two mugs of beer. "Cheers!" The three women clanked their tankards together.

Farkas slapped Falka on the back, making her stumble. "Well done," he praised her, "I never thought you would, puny mage." A wide smile curled his lips, taking the sting from a potential insult. Falka laughed, raising her mug to his.

Another slap on her back made Falka stagger again. "You stood you ground well, Red." Falka inclined her head, thanking Vilkas for the praise, beaming a smile his way.

Some time later, Njada retired for the night, following Athis' and Torvar's lead. The four members of the Inner Circle pulled up chairs, making themselves comfortable around their latest – and last – cog of beer. They drank in silence for quite a time, and Falka finally allowed the exhaustion of the day to wash over her. Next to her, Aela sighed, wearily. Farkas started humming again, this time, a deep, low melody. Entirely different from the jolly tune from earlier, it registered more as deep vibrations than an audible melody. Farkas' head was lowered and he stared into the glowing embers. Next to him, Vilkas drained his mug of ale, staring into the dying fire. Falka watched him until her eyes drifted close. She yawned heartily, inhaling deeply. A faint hint of peat filled the air, mixed with the smell of beer and a lingering taste of the roast Tilma had served earlier. Farkas' soft humming calmed her mind as fatigue washed over her tired body.

And then, her eyes flew open. Vilkas sang. She stared at him, completely perplexed by the unexpected display. The man, though, did not notice her eyes on him. His own gaze was focussed inwards, totally concentrated on the recitation of the ancient lay. A brief grin ghosted over Falka's face as she remembered their discussion from earlier, and she secretly admitted that Vilkas' voice would indeed be able to outmatch Ulfric's, if the man had a mind for it. She lifter her gaze to look at Aela, briefly catching the other woman's eye. But the moment Aela noticed Falka's eyes on her, she quickly lowered her head. Tears had filled her eyes and were threatening to spill over her cheeks. Falka looked away, entirely focussing on Farkas' humming, his twin's voice, and the ballad itself. It told of a Companion who, through his heroic deeds, was crowned Jarl of the Rift after defeating the evil that had pestered the natives for ages. Due to the ancient language, she had troubles following the finer elements of the lay, though. And yet, the silent, low song carried her mind's eye away to the Companions of old, all of them long gone to Sovngarde. It was beautiful.

After Vilkas had finished, none of them was in any mood to continue their celebrations. All the elation, happiness, and cheerfulness of the evening had abated, leaving nothing but an empty dullness and the realization that they, too, were vulnerable, and their own actions insignificant before their predecessor's deeds. Farkas, Vilkas, Aela, and Falka finished the last of the beer, then turned in for the night.

The next day, around noon, Kodlak bade all four members of the Inner Circle to him for their weekly meeting. He smiled at them, four pairs of bleary eyes staring back at their Harbinger. One of them was more tired and hungover than the other. Farkas stifled a yawn, while Falka tried her best not to fall over.

"You've succeeded in drinking Jorrvaskr dry," Kodlak informed them, chuckling to himself. "I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Aela yawned.

"Now go and help with the repairs."


End file.
